I deliver packages every day, but nothing prepared me for the dog who knew my name before I ever said it.
A blue heeler started appearing on my route weeks ago. Silent, patient, just watching. One day, I checked his tag—and froze. It read: MILA. My name.
No one claimed him. The house he lingered near had been empty for years. Then, he brought me an envelope. Inside, a key and instructions to visit an abandoned house.
I went.
Inside, I found proof of a life I’d forgotten—photos of me as a child, a journal, and a letter explaining that this was once my home. The dog, Blue, had been mine. After my parents died, I was sent away, and my memories faded. But he never forgot.
Now, he’s back with me, right where he belongs.
